Metanoia
by Emotistic Optimistic
Summary: Victor Nikiforov is six years old when he realizes that being the prince makes him different. In the years that follow, he realizes the responsibilities and heartaches that being the prince entails. - Companion story to Duty-bound.


Victor is six years old when he realizes that being the prince makes him different.

To a certain extent, he's always known he was _different._ Since he could remember, everyone's referred to him as "Your Highness," which, as far as he knew, wasn't what other little boys were called. The only ones who ever referred to him by name were his parents and Yakov. But he just accepted that for what it was and carried on. So what if he had a funny other name? It didn't make much difference to him.

The realization that he was different comes from a game of tag with one of the servants' children. (He wants to say his name was Vasiliy, but even at six he had a terrible memory.) For a while it was great fun to run up and down the big halls of the palace, with each of them giving a little shriek of excitement when they were caught before turning to tag the other.

But Victor wasn't watching where he was going, and all at once he crashes into a table with a very beautiful, delicate glass swan perched upon it. Well, a beautiful, delicate _ex-_ swan now. He presses his hands to his mouth and looks to his friend, who looks equally horrified. For a moment, they conspire on what to do. Hide the pieces? Ah, but glass was sharp and they might get hurt. Tell an adult? But that would just get them in trouble! Maybe they could try to put the swan back together.

Victor's sent to find glue, only to run into Anushka, the cook. She huffs as she stares down at him.

"I heard a crash. Are you all right, Highness?" she asks. Victor twiddles his hands awkwardly.

"Yes." It's not lying if he doesn't say anything, right?

"Then what was the crash?"

Victor looks away and gives a little shrug. Anushka gives another sigh, then walks into the hallway to see his friend trying to carefully gather the biggest pieces of the swan.

" _Sasha!_ " (Ah, that was his name.) "What did you _do?!"_

Sasha immediately freezes, eyes wide with fear, and Victor is quick to dive in. "It's my fault, Anushka! I wasn't looking! I can…um, I can try to fix it!"

Anushka pays him no mind, instead stooping down to hoist Sasha up by his arm. "We are going to march straight back to your mother, and I'm going to make _sure_ you get a walloping."

Sasha howls at the indignity of it all, sniffling through his explanation that it wasn't his fault. Even at six, Victor can see that this isn't just, and he tugs on Anushka's skirt as he tearfully agrees. "It's my fault, Anushka! I did it! I should get in trouble."

Anushka's mouth goes in a hard line, and she carefully detaches Victor's hands from her skirt. "Sasha should know better than to have put you in a position to do that. He knows where his place is." She gave another huff. "And I'll be having a stern word with your nanny, wherever she is."

Victor stands helplessly as Anushka pulls his friend away to be punished. As he's dragged away, the angry look Sasha sends Victor is seared into his mind—where, despite Victor's terrible memory, it will replay at the oddest times for the next several years.

Being a prince, he decides, is a bad thing. If it makes people mad at him and gets them in trouble, then he doesn't want to be one anymore. So he sets off to find the one person who can make him not-a-prince: the King.

The doors to his father's private rooms are heavy, but using all of his weight, Victor manages to open them just enough to slip inside. He hesitates for a moment on the other side of the door; he's never gone to his father's room alone, only with his nannies or, on rare occasions, his mother. But as far as six-year-olds go, he's quite brave, so he takes a deep breath and walks in.

"Papa? Papa!" he calls, trying his best to stay brave even with the strange busts and empty suits of armor staring down at him. But when he comes face-to-face with a stuffed lion, he can't help his shriek as he stumbles back.

"Vitya?"

All at once, Victor is scooped up, away from the scary lion and frightening art. He quickly wraps his arms around his savior's neck with a sniffly "Papa!"

But the hair's too long, and he's not _quite_ high enough off the ground for this to be Papa. He looks at his rescuer in surprise. Yakov, the royal advisor, looks back at him with a sigh.

"Where's your nanny?" he asks wearily. Victor shrugs, and Yakov sighs again. "Well, I'll take you back to your quarters, then. Your father—"

"NO!"

Yakov's left eye begins to twitch. It's slight, but Victor's laughed at it enough times to know when it's happening. "No?"

Victor shakes his head. "I…" He presses his lips together, then leans forward and whispers in Yakov's ear, "I don't want to be the prince anymore."

To his surprise, the irritation melts away from Yakov, and he actually _laughs._ "You don't want to be the prince? Would you rather be the king instead?"

Victor shakes his head.

"Then why don't you want to be the prince?"

"Because! Because I was playing and Sasha was there and I ran into a table and-and I broke the bird on it—I didn't mean to, though!—but then Anushka came and Sasha got in trouble instead!" Victor explained, eyes once again getting teary.

Yakov blinked, brow furrowing at the boy. "That's why you don't want to be the prince?"

Victor nodded resolutely. "It's not fair. I should've gotten in trouble."

Yakov sighed, then set Victor down. "Well, you probably should. But most of them don't feel right punishing someone who's so important." He looked down at Victor curiously. "Do you feel bad about what you did, Vitya?"

Victor nodded quietly. Yakov huffed.

"Well, no sweets this week should be a good enough punishment, then." When Victor makes a little noise of protest, Yakov raises an eyebrow. "You thought you ought to get in trouble, right? This is what happens when you get in trouble."

(In later years, Victor heavily regrets this conversation. Not only did it result in years of being sent to his room and being forced to sit out events, but Yakov always gleefully reminded him that Victor _had said_ he thought it wasn't fair that he shouldn't be punished just because he was the prince.)

For now, though, Victor resigns himself to his punishment, wiping his nose with a velvet sleeve. "Can I still see Papa?"

"The king is very busy right now. Let's get you back to your quarters, instead." Yakov takes the little boy's hand and guides him back to the heavy oak doors. "And I'm going to have a stern word with your nanny about everything that happened today."

Victor only half-listens to Yakov grumble about where he'd probably find her (though he didn't understand why Yakov said "Probably rolling in the hay" so angrily; it sounded like fun), instead looking back and furrowing his little brow as he tried to catch a glimpse of the king. Papa was always busy, it seemed. Other people seemed to see their papas all the time, but not him.

He didn't like that part of being a prince, either.

* * *

Victor is ten years old when he realizes his parents don't care about him.

Well, that's a bit strong. Obviously they don't want him to die or anything. But if they really cared about him, wouldn't they try to see him more? Papa, of course, is always busy. He has dim memories of his mother cooing over him when he was very little, but he can't recall the last time she asked to see him outside of telling him about such-and-such event coming up or Lord so-and-so coming to visit, so _please_ be on your best behavior, Vitya.

Despite the fact that she seemed to forget he lived at the palace, Victor _adored_ his mother. She was eternally cool and composed, and while she was beautiful at any given moment, she positively sparkled whenever there was company: a glittering ice queen commanding the attention of the room with her bright blue eyes and trilling laugh. So, when he could slip away from his nanny or tutors, he would almost always find his way to her quarters and, quietly as he could, sit in a corner to watch her work.

She's always utterly absorbed in her planning—since coming to the throne with her husband, her parties and galas have become _legendary_ throughout the kingdom—which meant that Victor only had to worry about the Royal Planner giving away his hiding place.

She would _always_ squawk out "Your Highness, _what_ are you doing _here_?" And the queen, blue eyes sharp as she was interrupted, would turn and look at him exasperatedly.

"Vitya, you know you can't come in here while I'm working. We tell you this again and again."

"Yes, Mama," was his constant reply.

"Why do you keep doing this, then?"

Each time he was asked, Victor was never sure how to respond. Because she was so beautiful, and even as a child, Victor knew he loved to be near beautiful things? Because he loved seeing how she put together her wonderful galas, and he wanted to learn how?

Or maybe because he kept hoping that _this_ was the moment the ice around his mother would finally melt, and he could have a mama just like any other boy?

His answer would always be a noncommittal shrug, and he'd docilely be escorted back to wherever he needed to be.

Except today is different. He does not go docilely, but instead pulls his arm away to take a step toward his mother. "I…wanted to tell you that I'm going to do an ice skating show!"

The Royal Planner stops in her tracks, and the queen glances back at Victor, head tilted curiously.

"An ice skating show?"

"Yes! Like the one Nanny took me to see last year!"

He's not exactly sure where this idea comes from. Up until thirty seconds ago, he had no plans of doing an ice skating show. He's not even particularly good at ice skating—though that's mostly because he hadn't started skating until after seeing last year's show. But something in him is screaming that he's running out of time to melt the ice around his mother's heart, running out of time to have the Mama he so desperately wants. So perhaps, since ice skating made him so happy, it would make her happy as well. Maybe they could both like it together.

He watches her with wide eyes, not daring to move even as she sighs and holds her head. "If I'm not too busy, Vitya, we'll see."

That's enough. Victor's whole face brightens, and he immediately runs over to kiss her cheek. "Thank you! I know you'll love it," he says with all the confidence in the world. "It'll be tomorrow at the river, okay?"

She nods, turning back to her planning. "Mm. Now please go back to your lessons."

He practically dances out of the room, already planning the world's best ice skating show. This will work, he knows it will.

* * *

Victor doesn't have much in the way of ice skating knowledge. He can do circles on the ice, and sometimes if he waves his arms it _kind of almost_ looks like something that the skaters did in the show he saw last year. He knows he'll get better with practice, but it's frustrating to not have much to work with when you're planning an ice skating extravaganza.

Even so, he's sure the queen will love it. He's poured all of his love into the little routine he's planned, and once he's sure it comes across, he sits on a nearby fallen tree and waits for his mother to arrive.

And he waits.

And waits.

He practices again, afraid he'll forget the routine he's made.

Then he waits again.

It's very cold outside, but he ignores the way the wind bites at his ears and nose. His mother will come. She has to. Right? He keeps telling himself that she will, even as an awful feeling starts to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.

It's nearly sundown when he sees Nanny walk down from the palace. His teeth are chattering, but he ignores the cold and sits up excitedly. If Nanny's coming to see him, then his mother must not be far. He gets to his feet, his ankles almost buckling around his skates from how quickly he jumps up.

"Your Highness, we've been looking all over for you! Oh, goodness me, you're nearly frozen solid," Nanny fusses as she reaches him.

"I'm fine. I was just waiting to start my show." He looks over Nanny's shoulder, trying to see if his mother is coming after her before turning and getting onto the ice. He holds himself up, one arm raised and the other in front of him. "Once Mama comes, it can start!"

Nanny blinks. "Your mother?"

Victor nods, holding his pose. "I made it just for her!"

Nanny looks at him for a moment, then lets out a quiet sigh. "Highness, your mother arranged a tea for the local peerage today. She hasn't been able to leave the palace at all."

Victor's pose falters as the news hits him.

 _She forgot_.

The words ring loudly in his head before he shakes it away. He swallows hard before resuming his pose, smiling stiffly. "Then she can come when it's done!"

"It's nearly dark, Highness. You can't stay out then." Nanny's eyes widen as she sees Victor's arms drop. "But…but we could send someone to tell her to come see it another time!"

That wouldn't work. She still wouldn't come, even if they picked another day. She'd just forget that one, too. His eager hope from earlier drains out, leaving a hollow right in his center. Despite the cold, he feels his nose and ears heat up as tears start to build in his eyes. No, he doesn't want to cry. He's _ten_ , after all; he's much too old to be a crybaby.

Somewhere, he heard that if you make yourself smile, it makes you happier. So he takes a deep breath and sends the biggest smile he can to Nanny, head tilted slightly.

"Well, then, can you watch it? I worked _really_ hard on it."

He sees the shift in her face immediately—from pity to soft amusement. She smiles and sits down on the tree. "Well, I suppose I can. Then we'll need to get you in a hot bath so you don't catch a chill, Highness."

He nods vaguely in reply, then strikes his pose again before launching into his routine. It doesn't feel right; Victor's not focused on love, he's too busy thinking about how Nanny changed when he smiled at her. She wore the same face whenever he did something cute.

 _Oh._

He finishes his little skating routine with both hands up in the air and another big smile. Nanny lavishes praise on him, then helps him take off his skates before heading back up to the palace.

He doesn't mention the routine to anyone. He does, however, make sure to give big smiles and head tilts to everyone in the palace to see how they react. Yakov was steadfastly immune. Anushka pretended to be, but she'd still sneak him an extra blini if he asked sweetly. And a majority of the other staff would coo over him.

 _That_ was how, at ten years old, Victor realized he could charm people. And that meant that people liked him and treated him nicely.

It didn't get his parents to notice him, and it did very little to fill the hollow still inside him. But it helped a little bit, and that counted for something.

* * *

Victor is twelve when he realizes that he's going to be king one day.

Like his revelation that being the prince made him different, this was a fact he had been aware of for as long as he could remember. But he'd never really thought that _he_ , Victor Nikiforov, would be doing what his father did. At least, not until he comes back to his room after his lessons to find Nanny packing her bags.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Highness, I thought…"

"Where are you going?" Victor's voice is sweetly curious; between his official lessons, he's been taking pains to make himself as lovely and charming as possible in the past two years. "Are we taking a trip somewhere? I can call someone to pack my things so you don't have to."

"Oh…no, Highness. Were you not told?"

Victor blinks once, then puts on a wide smile. "Told what?"

Nanny sighs as she shuts her bag. "Well, you _are_ twelve now. So my job here is done."

Inwardly, something breaks in Victor. He'd never thought much about Nanny before this moment; she'd been with him near constantly since he was seven (after the previous nanny—the one who really enjoyed rolling in hay—was dismissed) and he couldn't imagine her _not_ being there. Outwardly, though, he merely leans in the doorway, twirling one strand of chin-length hair around his finger.

"So they're replacing you? That's silly."

Nanny presses her lips together as she looks at him. "They're not replacing me. You're much too old for a nanny now." She smiles as she walks over to him. "I mean, look at you! You'll be a man soon, Your Highness. Can you imagine being king and still having a nanny following you around?"

Victor stays silent, finger still twisted in his hair. "So then who'll stay with me in here?"

"Well, no one, as far as I know."

Victor's hand drops to his side. All at once, Nanny hurries over and cups his face.

"Oh, now, you'll be all right, Highness. I'm sure you'll enjoy having your room to yourself. It's not like I could stay here forever. Like I said, it'd be silly for the king to have his old nanny around, wouldn't it?" She leans in to give him a kiss on the forehead, but he pulls away before she can. He stares at her for a moment, still trying to consider what it would be like to have no one at his side. She starts to reach out for him again, but he sends her the widest smile he can.

"Well, then, good luck to the next child you take care of. They'll have a hard time living up to me," he says, giving her an awkward little wink. She laughs, reaching to pat his head.

"Oh, Highness, no one will compare." She leans down to peck each of his cheeks. "Don't forget me when you're king, all right? I'll be sure to keep in contact."

He knows she won't. He can tell empty promises when he hears them. But he smiles warmly at her all the same. "Me too," he swears, his promise just as empty.

* * *

Really, Victor doesn't notice much of a difference now that Nanny was gone. At least, not until he goes to bed that night.

He _is_ a prince, so he's still surrounded by people as he gets ready for bed. Two servants draw his bath, one helps him dress in his pajamas while others turn down the bedclothes and extinguish the fire in the fireplace. Once he's in bed, they all take their leave, with the last one putting out the lamps.

There, lying in the darkness, Victor is very aware that his room is far too quiet and empty.

He stares up at the ceiling, unsure of why that bothers him so much. It wasn't as if Nanny was a particularly noisy sleeper. But her cot had been close to his bed, and he was so used to falling asleep to the sound of her breathing and turning that the silence was disconcerting. He tosses and turns in his bed, trying to make enough noise to compensate, but that doesn't work. He tries to lie very still, but that just makes the silence worse.

Finally, he realizes that nothing is going to help him fall asleep, and the thought of staying wide awake in bed makes him feel anxious. So, fumbling a little in the darkness, he gets out of bed, lights a candle, and decides to go for a walk.

Years ago, when he was very young, he overheard one of the scullery maids telling stories about how the palace was haunted. Sorrowful grey ladies, vengeful lords atoning for wicked deeds, that sort of thing. He hadn't believed in ghosts for a couple years now, but even so, he never likes walking through the palace halls when they were dark. In the feeble light from his candle, the statues leer at him, the paintings are full of menacing shapes, and it feels as though the ornate carvings in the wall were closing in on him. He debates going back to his room, but Nanny said he was nearly a man, so he really ought to act like one. He braves his way through the halls, eventually picking a door at random and opening it.

He drops his candle and barely holds back a shriek of fright as he's face-to-face with a ghost.

The candle goes out with a hiss, and he stands stock-still. The ghost does the same, pale, wan face staring at him intently with eyes so blue they nearly glowed. Victor blinks; the ghost does the same. He frowns—and the ghost does too—and reaches up to push his hair back, watching as the ghost pushes back his own chin-length, silvery hair.

Victor bites back a loud laugh as he realizes he's been staring at a mirror on the opposite wall. He leans down to pick up his candle, then gives his ghost-reflection a little wave as he steps into the room. He should have brought a few extra matches, but a little sliver of yellow light guides him to two thick curtains. He pulls them open, then turns to look at the room. It looks like one of their smaller ballrooms. Not terribly exciting, really.

He sighs and turns back to look out the window. His eyes widen as he realizes he has a full view of the Capitol. Even in the middle of the night, the lights from the buildings below twinkle and give the dark night a golden sheen. He presses his nose against the glass, letting his eyes drift around. He can't see the people below, but he knows they're there. It's almost like he can feel them: sleeping, carousing, _living._

 _I need to take care of them_ , he thinks, _when I'm king._

It's the first time he's really thought about the future. That, when his father passed the crown on (at least, that's what Victor hoped would happen), it would fall to him to make sure his people were happy and taken care of. To make sure their lives were still as easy as they were when his father was the one ruling.

He's not sure what that thought makes him feel. Excited? Scared? He supposed it didn't matter; it'd happen no matter what he felt. He sits in front of the window and stares out into the gold-tinged night. He'd be a man soon. He'd be king soon, too.

He wants to do his best with both.

* * *

(In the morning, the servants panic when they can't find the prince in his room. Yakov is the one who finds him in the anterior ballroom, curled against the window and fast asleep. He never asks what Victor was doing there, and Victor never asks who it was that got him tucked into bed when he woke a few hours later.)

* * *

Sixteen is _wonderful._

The best part of sixteen comes in a little bundle of brown fluff and red ribbons that is given to Victor on his birthday. His heart immediately melts as the ball of fluff barks and wiggles happily in his arms. He quickly names his new friend Makkachin and spends the next several hours playing with her before they both fall asleep, with Makkachin happily splayed on Victor's stomach.

(She continues to do this years down the road, even when they're nearly the same height laying down.)

Honestly speaking, getting Makkachin alone would have made sixteen Victor's favorite year, but there's more that comes. He's now _eligible,_ for one; it's too early to really talk about marriage, but he's finally at the age where he's able to go out to dance and talk and flirt with pretty people he has exactly zero intentions of marrying. He's been cultivating his charm for six years now, so turning it on is as easy as breathing. Sometimes it backfires—he had to turn down two spur-of-the-moment proposals at his debut—but the adoring looks and flustered conversation fills a little bit of that hollowness inside him.

And, to his great delight, a miracle happens to him. He's not sure when exactly it happens, so he pins the moment as being about two months after his birthday. Victor is standing in front of the mirror being dressed for some countess' debut gala, and as he sighs at being pushed and prodded, he idly lifts his head and looks at his reflection.

 _Oh._

It's at this moment that Victor realizes he's _beautiful_.

It wasn't as if he'd ever suffered from any thoughts of being unattractive. He'd always been told he was a pretty child, and even his recent awkward stage of growth and uneven skin hadn't struck him as badly as it had others. He's still a little underdeveloped for his age, with his slender frame not quite catching up to his suddenly-much-longer limbs.

But he's willowy rather than gangly, and he naturally holds himself well. His waist-length hair only helps, falling over his shoulders like a silver waterfall and framing his soft features well. Really, he looks quite a bit like his mother.

The revelation sets him into a giggly sort of pride, and he spends the entirety of the gala preening.

He finds that the less-fun side of sixteen is easier to manage now that he knows he's beautiful. It gives him something to sit back and be proud of—even though he did nothing to make himself this way—when things get hard. Because things _do_ get hard.

Mostly because sixteen is when his parents remember that he exists.

It starts slowly. They give him the usual lip service that comes on his birthday/Christmas (Over the years, he's wondered if they planned for him to be born on the same day, to minimize how many obligatory interactions they had with him.). Then, a few days later, his mother asks what he'd like for his debut ball, rather than planning it herself. After the ball, she commends him on his presence and grace, making his heart swell with pride. Shortly after, the unthinkable happens.

His father _invites him_ to his rooms.

At first, Victor is certain that there's a mistake, and he debates ignoring the summons. But, really, he couldn't ignore a request from his father, much less _the king_. And, despite everything, Victor is an optimist. Maybe his father realizes that he's missed an opportunity to get to know his son—Victor's read books where that sort of thing happens—and this was their chance to start again on the right foot.

So, taking care to step lightly and keep his face open in order to maximize his charm, Victor flounces to his father's rooms. He'll be very considerate and patient with his father, he decides. It'll be hard, because Victor's always hated waiting for anything, but he knows he can't pass up the opportunity to fill up that hollow spot inside of himself.

He steps through the heavy oak doors, hesitating once he's on the other side. Even though he's been summoned, it still feels as though he's not supposed to be here. To ground himself, he pulls a ribbon from his pocket and ties up his hair, getting it out of his face, then sets his shoulder and glides toward his father's office.

(He does avoid looking at the stuffed lion, though.)

He pokes his head in first, looking in curiously. "Papa?" he asks hesitantly. There's a rustling of papers. Victor assumes it's Yakov, but he's pleasantly surprised as his father walks over with a wide smile.

"Vitya!" He claps a broad hand on Victor's shoulder, which instantly makes him suspicious. His father's never this openly warm. But, again, considerate and patient. So he returns the smile and lets his father guide him into the office. It's a grand space, one that Victor's never properly seen before now. But there's no time to look around; his father _wants_ him here, and he can't waste a moment. So he sits in the chair his father guides him to, sitting up straight and tilting his head as he waits for him to speak. What's going to happen? Will he apologize for not making time for him? Swear to get to know his son and make up for lost time? Victor's practically buzzing in anticipation.

His father leans back, watching Victor for a moment. Then, all at once, he asks, "Vitya, what kind of king do you want to be?"

Victor blinks a few times, confused. Immediately, he puts on a small smile and tilts his head a little more. "What?"

"Well, in just two years, you'll be eligible for the crown if anything happens to me."

Victor sits up straighter, eyes wide. "Is something wrong? Are you sick?"

The king chuckles and shakes his head. "No, no. This is a normal conversation for the crown prince. My father gave it to me when I was your age." He raises his eyebrows as he looks over Victor. "A good king needs to be willing to change into whatever his kingdom needs, but you still need a strong base. What do you want to do when you're the king, Vitya?"

Victor stares at his father for a moment, then tugs at a loose strand of hair. "I…want to help people."

"How?"

Victor fidgets, suddenly feeling like he was put on the spot. What if he answered wrong? "By…er, by being a good king?"

The king's eyebrows raise, and Victor immediately squirms in his seat. "I, um…I mean…"

"You don't know."

He feels his cheeks burn, and he looks down at the ground as he shakes his head. After a moment, he flicks his eyes up to see his father smile.

"Of course you don't. No one does at sixteen. That's why I'm going to teach you." He leans back. "So, starting today, you will be joining me in my duties."

"Really?" He sits straight up, blue eyes wide and sparkling. When the king nods, Victor immediately jumps to his feet. "When do we start?" he asks eagerly.

"Well, there's a council meeting tomorrow. I'll have you sit in on that."

" _Excellent!_ " Victor sends his father a wide, sunny smile. "I'll learn all I can! I'll be the best student you've ever seen!"

The king chuckles, then gives his son a little wave. "Well, for now I need to work, Vitya. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow!" Victor chirps, then practically dances out the door. This was it. He and his father were _finally_ going to spend some time together. He'd see what a wonderful, clever son he had when Victor wowed him.

Things were going to be _lovely_ from here on out.

* * *

It takes Victor one council meeting to figure out that being king mostly entailed doing a _lot_ of boring things. It takes three for Victor to realize that he doesn't seem to have a mind for numbers or laws. It takes five for his father to decide he's an idiot.

"Vitya, are you even paying attention?" he whispers to him more often than not. The first few times, Victor tries doubly hard to focus and make himself understand how laws work. He asks his father why they need to balance a budget or why this law passes but that one doesn't, but he's met by disappointed head shakes and sighs.

"You should be figuring this out on your own, Vitya," his father scolds after he asks why they need to set aside a war fund if there's no war.

After that, he meets every "Are you even listening?" with pressed lips, averted eyes, and passive-aggressively braiding his long hair. It was one thing to try and fail in the hopes of doing better. It was another altogether to try and be told that you tried wrong and that there was no hope of _not_ failing.

Things are slightly better with his mother. Now that he's sixteen, she can't exactly shoo him out. So, when he has the time, Victor sits and quietly watches her plan event after event. _This_ world makes sense to him. Colors and decoration to match the tone of event; entertainment appropriate to the theme; being a charming host and multitasker—all of these were things that Victor would excel at. But, as his father would continuously remind him, that was a job for his future spouse. Victor was going to be the _king_ ; kings had no time for the social aspect of nobility save for finding a Consort.

That doesn't stop Victor from occasionally taking advantage of the rare times his mother is distracted to swap out color palettes and re-organize seating arrangements. To his delight, she merely does one double-take each time before keeping his decisions, unaware that they weren't her own.

* * *

The first Senate meeting Victor's allowed to attend arrives, and he finds himself in a particularly bad mood. Yakov blames hormones, his father blames his obstinance, and his mother doesn't have much of an opinion one way or another. Really, it's because he'll just have to sit through another meeting where his father tells him that he's not learning anything, and he's lost all patience for that.

They're late to the meeting because, like a child, Victor tries to hide from the servants who were told to fetch him. They catch him when he's halfway to the still-frozen river, skates in hand, and he's marched back to the palace in shame. When he's brought in front of his parents, he tilts his head and widens his eyes toward his father.

"I forgot that the meeting was today," he lies easily, then puts on a big smile. "And the river's going to melt any day now so…"

"Vitya." His father's voice is flat, and Victor swallows before tilting his head a touch more. " _Stop that._ You look like a…a _coquette._ A king shouldn't be even _remotely_ like a _courtesan._ "

A flare of hurt hits Victor in the chest and, in a fit of teenage rebellion, he makes sure all of his movements are saucy as can be as they walk to the Senate hall. He flutters into the hall after his parents, steps light and holding himself as much like a courtesan as he can manage.

(He's not exactly sure how well he does. It's not like he's met many courtesans. But the frustrated looks he receives from his father and Yakov make him guess he's doing a fairly good job.)

As per usual, the Barons and Baronesses all rose and bowed as the royal family entered. Victor let his eyes roam, not impressed but also seeking out interesting faces. Ah, one face wasn't bowing. Victor turned his head ever-so-slightly, locking his eyes onto the warm brown eyes of a young boy. The boy's face abruptly went red as he broke their gaze, and Victor smiles. Must be a star-struck new page. How cute.

He doesn't spare much thought to the boy, though, as he plops down next to his parents and resumes his boring-meeting habits. He braids and unbraids his hair. He fidgets. He taps his fingers against the arm of his chair until his father actually clamps a wide hand over his own to stop him.

"Vitya, a good king _doesn't fidget like a spoiled child_ while there is a meeting," he hisses, careful to barely move his lips as the Baroness of Sagashima speaks. "Now, sit _still_ until this is done. Then we'll mingle with the barony and discuss what we missed."

Victor pouts at him. "I can't help it. I have a headache."

The king stares at him. "A headache?"

"A terrible one." Victor's brow creases, and he winces. "If I do things, I don't think about it and it doesn't hurt as much."

The king sighs. As much as he wants Victor to be there, Victor wasn't going to be able to focus with a headache. So he shakes his head as the Baron of Yesania finishes his remarks.

" _Fine._ You may leave early, but go straight to your room and rest. You need to get well as soon as possible."

Victor dips his head with a wince before standing up. He hesitates, just for a moment, then says, "I think I know the cause, at least. Of my headache."

"Yes?"

Victor glanced up as the barons and baronesses rose and made their way down, then smirked. "It's from how _boring_ this meeting was."

Before he can see his father's spluttering, angry reaction, Victor dives into the crowd and slips out of the room. His heart pounds from the boldness of his move, and he moves quicker than normal. That was a stupid idea, but also an immensely satisfying one. Which was good, because he'd never have the gumption to do that again.

But onto more important things. He left his skates in the kitchen, so all he had to do was find it from here. This was his home, so it should be easy to find.

It wasn't easy to find.

Victor wanders the halls around the Senate hall for what feels like hours before he finds someone who's not a guard who had probably never seen more of the palace than what they guarded. So when he sees the dark-haired, spectacled little boy, he's so relieved to see another face that he doesn't try to hide it.

"Hey! You! I recognize you!" he calls, traipsing over to the boy. He looks back with a smile, then immediately his expression shifts in a way that makes Victor think he saw a ghost. Oh, had he scared him? He should fix that. He gives the boy a bright smile.

"You were sitting in on the meeting. You must be one of the new pages!" When the boy doesn't answer, Victor lets his head fall back with a loud sigh. "It's so _boring_ , isn't it? I can hardly stand it. But you know, it's always 'Vitya, you need to prepare for your future' and 'Vitya, one day you'll be making and passing these laws'."

He sighs again, then, as he glances at the page's wide-eyed expression, realizes that maybe he shouldn't vent about the hardship of being crown prince with a little boy he's just met. He sets his hands on his hips, trying to think of something to change the subject. "Say, what are you doing in the East Wing, anyway? Pages normally stay by the Senate."

He watches the boy intently as he swallows and wrenches his mouth open. "I…I was looking for…for the living quarters," he says quietly, stiltedly words colored with a soft accent Victor couldn't quite place. "Where…where the, uh, the people i-in the Senate are staying."

"Oh! Well, that's over in the South Wing. Which is…" Victor blinks a few times. Where were they, exactly? "Which is…" He presses a finger to his lips, brow furrowing as he pulls up a blank where his mental map of the palace should be. " _Hm_."

 _He has no idea how to get to the South Wing._

He keeps his face composed as he looks down at the page. Oh, the poor thing looks like he's about to pass out from the stress. Well, Victor was going to be king. He had to make sure his subjects—even a page who didn't look more than ten years old—felt comfortable and reassured around him. So he does the only thing he knows he could do: he gives the boy the widest, brightest smile he can.

"What do you say we find it together?"

The boy blinks behind his glasses, expression unreadable. But he relaxes, and Victor wastes no time in leading the way to find their way to the South Wing.

He very diplomatically asks for directions from a few servants. Then, to make sure the _other_ servants don't feel left out, he repeats the questions a few more times. And, to _really, really_ make sure he knows the way back to the South Wing, he and the page retrace their steps more than once. For thoroughness's sake, of course.

Finally, they reach the South Wing, and the page almost immediately points out the room he's looking for. When they walk to it, he quickly turns and gives Victor a sharp bow.

"Thank you for helping me, Your Highness!"

"Of course!" Victor says breezily. "Um…" Oh, no. He forgot to ask the page's name. He couldn't help his people if he didn't even bother to ask their names! "What…was your name again?"

"Katsuki Yuuri! E-earl of Hasetsu!" the boy (who's still bowing) practically shouts out.

 _Oh_ , wow, Victor's an idiot. He should have figured out that this boy wasn't a page. He looks away, wondering if he's offended the young earl, then hesitantly looks back at him, ready to apologize.

Oh.

He still hasn't moved.

Victor's lips turn up at that, and he fights a giggle at Lord Katsuki Yuuri's silliness. Finally, he reaches forward to lightly touch the boy's shoulder. Katsuki lifts his head, brown eyes wide, and Victor gives him a grin.

"Well, if you're an earl, that means one day _you'll_ be boring me with all that Senate talk," he teases. His grin falters as he sees the same embarrassed blush as the one he'd seen in the Senate creep onto Katsuki's face, and, bowing his head slightly, he gently adds, "I look forward to working with you one day, Katsuki Yuuri."

He's…not entirely sure what Katsuki Yuuri says in response. It may not have even been _words_ , and before Victor can ask, he's on the other side of the door. Victor stays put for a moment longer, then slips away to find the kitchen.

Well, that hadn't been an ideal day. But he _had_ helped one of his subjects, even if it was in a roundabout way, and Victor feels a bubble of pride fill his chest from his small success.

See? He _could_ be a good king and leader.

Now if only he could get his parents to see that, too.


End file.
